


I don't have to leave anymore; what I have is right here

by adri92



Category: Marvel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-06
Updated: 2013-02-06
Packaged: 2017-11-28 09:46:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/673019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adri92/pseuds/adri92
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Take a break, sport,” Bobbie calls out from the comfort of the living room sofa. A carton of ice cream is nestled on her ever-growing belly.</p><p>“I’ll be right there,” he replies from the other room. The baby’s room. In one hand, Clint holds a paintbrush. He dips it in the purple—lilac, Bobbi calls it—paint before bringing it back to the wall to finish the few last strokes of the first layer of paint.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I don't have to leave anymore; what I have is right here

“Honey, I’m home,” Clint calls out in an exaggerated tone. The sound of the front door shutting precedes his familiar laugh. Then, there is the sound of fumbling in the bathroom.  
“You breakin’ something in there, Birdie?” He quirks an eyebrow and makes his way across the apartment. As he nears the restroom, the door creaks open and a flushed face Bobbi comes out. Clint furrows his brows in confusion. Just as his lips part to speak, she interrupts him.  
“I’m pregnant,” she manages to say in one breath. Clint doesn’t say anything for a moment. A well of emotions build up in the center of his chest. His mind is racing in a million directions. While his mind is catching up with the news, he pulls her into an embrace and kisses her. She kisses him back.  
The news is still settling in. Shock and elation are both sentiments burgeoning deep inside Clint’s chest. Another feeling is growing. Fear. She senses it and she cups his face.  
“You’ll be a great father, Clint,” she reassures him. It was terrifying at times how well Bobbi knew him.  
He can’t help but shake his head and draw in a deep breath. “I don’t want to screw up a kid, Bobbi. I don’t want to—”  
“Shh,” she brings her index finger to his lips. “We’re partners. No one’s screwing up this kid,” Bobbi took his hand in hers and squeezed it gently.  
Partners.  
He could do this.  
“Wow. A baby,” he breathes out before his lips curve into a smile that Bobbi had not quite seen before. He tenderly places a hand on her stomach which has not begun to expand yet.  
“A baby. Our baby,” she also smiles. “I swear to god, sport, if he looks like you—” she teases.  
“He’ll have all the neighborhood girls after him.”  
“One rule—”  
“I’ll agree to whatever you want if we name him after me.”  
“We’ll see.” 

\-------------------------

Twelve weeks. It’s been twelve weeks. Clint has already picked out a starter bow for their future child; even after much protest from Bobbi, “He won’t even get to use that for years, goof.”  
Twelve weeks. It’s been twelve weeks. “Looks like it’s a girl,” the doctor says as he lightly ran the ultrasound probe over Bobbi’s belly. Clint clutches her hand tightly; their gazes transfix on the ultrasound screen. A baby girl. Bobbi lightly runs the pad of her thumb over Clint’s hand. She already knows the little girl will have Clint wrapped around her finger.  
Following the doctor’s appointment, Clint insists stopping at the store. There, he piles the shopping cart with an assortment of pink blankets, pink bibs, pink onesies; though, truthfully, he is a bit disappointed at the lack of purple.  
“I don’t think we have enough pink,” she says and stifles a laugh. He offers a sheepish grin.  
“I love you,” he says.  
“I love you, too. Let’s go home. And you can make us and this little one some dinner,” she places a hand on her growing belly. 

\-------------------------

“Take a break, sport,” Bobbie calls out from the comfort of the living room sofa. A carton of ice cream is nestled on her ever-growing belly.  
“I’ll be right there,” he replies from the other room. The baby’s room. In one hand, Clint holds a paintbrush. He dips it in the purple—lilac, Bobbi calls it—paint before bringing it back to the wall to finish the few last strokes of the first layer of paint.  
He enters the living room and joins her on the couch.  
“How’s it coming along?” She asks before putting a spoonful of ice cream in her mouth.  
“Good. You two plannin’ on sharing that?” He raises an eyebrow.  
“Nope,” she grins. “Maybe it’s about time we talk about names,” she adds.  
“Hm,” he thinks for a moment. Before Bobbi even has a chance to suggest anything, he’s shooting out names.  
“Zoe? Lily?” He gauges her reaction.  
She swings her legs onto his lap. Tapping the spoon against her mouth, she says, “Lily Barton. Has a nice ring to it, Hawkeye.” When he smiles, she offers him some of the ice cream, and he gladly accepts.  
“Oh. She’s kicking,” Bobbi shifts slightly in her seat as she grins from ear to ear. Quickly she takes Clint hand in her and places it on her belly. “Feel it?” Clint nods in awe and smiles.  
“We’re a family, Clint.”  
He agrees.  
A family.  
Something deep down he’d always wanted. Searched for. Needed. 

\-------------------------

Bobbi’s near her due date when Clint receives a call from Director Fury. It’s a mission. He’s ready to refuse it.  
“Go,” she says.  
“Are you sure?”  
“C’mon, I’m a tough lady,” she playfully punches his arm. “We still have a few weeks. We’ll be fine,” she says.  
With her blessing, Clint accepts. He’s to leave in the morning. She doesn’t worry. Not more than usual. Clint’s been on countless missions. He’s always made it back to her.

It’s 8AM on a Saturday when Bobbi receives a call.  
“Clint’s gone missing,” the voice on the other side of the line explains.  
She swallows hard and chokes back worry. “He’ll turn up. He always does. Keep me posted.”  
“He’ll turn up, Lily,” she rubs a hand over her stomach. They’d started referring to the baby growing inside of her by name already.

 

\-------------------------

She’s standing in the kitchen, making eggs—two plates worth, in case Clint bursts through the door—when she receives a second call two weeks after his disappearance. The exact words hardly matter. All that matters is the tightening in her chest when they inform her Clint’s not coming home to her, that he’s gone, that his body’s been found and they ask if she’d like to come in to identify it.  
She doesn’t utter a word; just hangs the phone back up on its receiver. Bobbi walks cripplingly slow—partly because she’s pregnant and partly because she’s numb—into their shared bedroom. She crawls into their bed and cries until she falls asleep.  
The blaring sound of the phone ringing wakes her in the morning. She ignores it.  
Despite how strong their friends know Bobbi is, they worry about her, they offer to stay with her and help out in any way they can. She refuses and argues that she’s doing just fine. And she is fine. For the most part. The pending birth of their child keeps her going.  
When her water breaks, she doesn’t call anyone. Bobbi drives herself to the hospital. The labor’s long, the nurses are nice, but all she gets to quench her thirst are ice chips.  
After several grueling hours, the sound of an infant’s cries fills the room. Cleaned up and swaddled in a pink blanket, the nurse hands her the baby. She secures her against her chest and whispers to the small baby, “Lily Barton, you look just like your daddy.” Closing her eyes for just a second and thinking hard enough, she imagines him there. She hears his laugh and his voice. She sees his smile as he holds their daughter. She opens her eyes and the moment is gone. But just then, Lily makes a small sound and smiles—or something resembling a smile.  
They were going to be okay.


End file.
